


Joan's Thoughts

by SwampWitch333



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-07-13 11:12:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16016723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwampWitch333/pseuds/SwampWitch333
Summary: Joan's pov





	Joan's Thoughts

"Fuck this shit", i stated aloud to the walls. No one could here me anyway and even if they did, it's not like they give two shits.

Coming soon another candle down the drain. I'm not having it. To hell with another "birthday" that doesn't exist. "Vera could have been more understanding, that bitch.."

"It's a wonder i have an idea of around what age i am. No friends, no family, nothing to lose.. Ha. They are playing with fire and i will be the one to ensure they burn."

"Stupid fucking humans, all it would have taken is some understanding. Too wrapped up in their own pathetic lives."

Sipping straight out of the less than half full bottle of vodka i feel rage overtake me. With all my strength i hurl that piece of glass shit against the wall and watch it shatter. I won't bother to clean it up. Not this time, not ever.

Grabbing my cell phone off the counter, i text Vera ultimatums. Just to see if she responds. 

Fifteen minutes later, after opening a new bottle my cell phone beeps. Oh, has Vera finally decided to write back? She was never good at much, let alone being prompt.

"Snippy, snippy, aren't we, Vera."  
Figures, she is a failure. She'll just have to learn the hard way. She could have learned, yet another fails to make the cut.

Snatching my cell phone, i repeatedly hurl it against the walls until it's broken. I won't be needing it anymore anyway.

"FucK YOU VERAAAA.", I scream the loudest my lungs will allow.

Fucken assholes never did and will understand anything.

Keys clattering, as if chattering shattered teeth, i don't bother with my purse or ID, it's pointless. I slam a clip into one of my 9mms and cock it back, throwing the safety on, spare clip shoved into my pocket. I'm out for blood with a vengeance, neverending red rivers that have warped me into the warpath i travel on. Not until I'm dead or they catch me alive, which i doubt. This bulletproof armor does a body good.

Fucken Vera, all i ever wanted was acceptance and understanding. Stupid bitch can't even spare 5 minutes of her time, claiming unsuccessfully she's going to bed. I could be dying and peepee pants wouldn't care. Game on, bitch. I always knew it would come down to this, an unavoidable date, all ruinous roads radiating into one huge mushroom cloud in the wake. Now they all have to die. I refuse to waste another fucking birthday; everything is pointless, the exceptional exception of blades sharpened. My greater good has evolved. To the point of no return, i will always come back in one form or another to haunt you. They all have it coming.  
Santa Muerte is coming to collect your souls.

Getting into my car, i fly out in reverse, tires squealing like stuck pigs, another uninvited shish kebab bbq, burned rubber fogging up the air quality of life, if it is to have one. Slamming down the gas i redline, unconcerned about accidents or the law. "Who the hell do they think they are!!!"  
These useless sons of whores come to work almost everday, only to get away with the bare minimum and talk behind my back. As if i don't know. Underestimating one's enemies leads to certain death.  
I'm coming for every single last one of you.

My blood alcohol content is too high, I'm not thinking.. Fuck it, do or die i really don't care if i smash up this Lincoln as long as i live to take their lives. 

Fakes, no funerals for those with no friends or family in attendence. The dreaded elementary school concert that bad parents hope their seeds do not achieve. Future wards of the state, signing away their lives slated to granite tombs. Crapshots, shootouts with the cops, play gambling games with the Fates.

Shaking myself to regain my bearings, i adjust the velcro on the teflon vest I'm wearing. I guess a Gentex helmet would be going too far, yet I'm not that concerned, as it's stashed snugly behind the driver's seat of my car.

I check my rearview to make sure my hairs in place. I'll be damned if i ever have to get a mugshot taken looking a bit disgraceful.

Glaring, "It all comes down to this!?" Pissed, clenching teeth grinding, if i could roar like a lion ensnared about to make it's great escape with the lives she takes, i would yet no sound comes out of my mouth. I'm more ticked off than a wound up alarm clock whose springs kicked. Throwing the Lincoln into drive, i get back on the road and take off. They all must die. How dare they! The human filth that they are! To underestimate my intelligence. Since the something that is nothing never even gives, i won't stop until they are all DEAD! They don't know me, they never will, they think they know everything and don't know shit. Fucking gossiping hens. Wring their necks, all of them. As if their lives are a bloody fairytale, ha. I'll put an end to it. All of it.

Warehousing humans vacancies in the brains, the motel signs that only have a few letters alit.  
Abandoned Abbadon several stories bored, boarded up windows blinded as they refuse to see the sins of humanity any longer. Not even the strong survived. Radios dropped into icy baths, not even freezing cold towels can ever help those hindered souls. In want of tearing the flesh from their necks, limp ragdolls shaking between my teeth i drool down my jowls. Oh so breakable, ceramics dropped off the top floor of highrise housing projects.  
Test subject with only a number, somber the land torn asunder cracks dry of scorched earthen slumber sleep walker now awoken. How many dead humans do i carry in my mouth? This broken puzzle, pieces scattered into the ocean's depths cannot be made whole. Your logic is lacking government programs never stop, they just change names. Nightly i put myself through sensory deprivation not to mention all those years fanning the hellfires before i escaped. Made the running for the next Manchurian Candidate. No contracts contracted, only to work for myself, go burn your money and false promises. If your adversaries are mine, meet me at the wishing well. Used up banter of well wishes dished out with a load of bullshit. Smoke coming out of my nose, villages burn to the ground solemn chistled chimneys remaining. Birthday presents forgotten by those who chose to be vilified the virginal Vera, will only fold their tongues, snip, snip. when i win the rounds. Like the loaded clips i carry on my hip.


End file.
